the scarlet ibis.1 - Mrs. Odomnikkiodom.weebly.com/uploads/5/1/7/8/51780921/scarlet...The Scarlet...

It was in the clove of seasons, summer was dead but autumn

had not yet been born, that the ibis lit in the bleeding tree. The

flower garden was stained with rotting brown magnolia petals,

and ironweeds grew rank1 amid the purple phlox. The five

o’clocks by the chimney still marked time, but the oriole nest in

the elm was untenanted and rocked back and forth like an

empty cradle. The last graveyard flowers were blooming, and

their smell drifted across the cotton field and through every

room of our house, speaking softly the names of our dead.

It’s strange that all this is still so clear to me, now that that

summer has long since fled and time has had its way. A grind-

stone stands where the bleeding tree stood, just outside the

kitchen door, and now if an oriole sings in the elm, its song

seems to die up in the leaves, a silvery dust. The flower garden is

prim, the house a gleaming white, and the pale fence across the

yard stands straight and spruce. But sometimes (like right now),

as I sit in the cool, green-draped parlor, the grindstone begins to

turn, and time with all its changes is ground away—and I

remember Doodle.

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168 Collection 6: Symbolism and AllegoryPart 1

© Frank Lane Picture Agency/CORBIS.

A clove (kl£v) is a division orsplit of some kind. Duringwhat time of year does thisstory take place?

Re-read the narrator’sdescription of the garden(lines 1-9). Underline thewords and phrases that bringto mind death or dying.

NotesNotes

1. rank (ra«k) adj.: thick and wild. Rank also means “smelly.”

“The Scarlet Ibis” by James R. Hurst from The Atlantic Monthly, July 1960. Copyright © 1960 by The AtlanticMonthly. Reprinted by permission of the author.

The Scarlet The Scarlet James Hurst

Ibis

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Doodle was just about the craziest brother a boy ever had.

Of course, he wasn’t a crazy crazy like old Miss Leedie, who was

in love with President Wilson and wrote him a letter every day,

but was a nice crazy, like someone you meet in your dreams. He

was born when I was six and was, from the outset, a disappoint-

ment. He seemed all head, with a tiny body which was red and

shriveled like an old man’s. Everybody thought he was going to

die—everybody except Aunt Nicey, who had delivered him. She

said he would live because he was born in a caul2 and cauls were

made from Jesus’ nightgown. Daddy had Mr. Heath, the carpen-

ter, build a little mahogany coffin for him. But he didn’t die, and

when he was three months old, Mama and Daddy decided they

might as well name him. They named him William Armstrong,

which was like tying a big tail on a small kite. Such a name

sounds good only on a tombstone.

I thought myself pretty smart at many things, like holding

my breath, running, jumping, or climbing the vines in Old

Woman Swamp, and I wanted more than anything else someone

to race to Horsehead Landing, someone to box with, and some-

one to perch with in the top fork of the great pine behind the

barn, where across the fields and swamps you could see the sea.

I wanted a brother. But Mama, crying, told me that even if

William Armstrong lived, he would never do these things with

me. He might not, she sobbed, even be “all there.” He might, as

long as he lived, lie on the rubber sheet in the center of the bed

in the front bedroom where the white marquisette3 curtains bil-

lowed out in the afternoon sea breeze, rustling like palmetto

fronds.4

It was bad enough having an invalid brother, but having

one who possibly was not all there was unbearable, so I began to

make plans to kill him by smothering him with a pillow.

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The Scarlet Ibis 169

In lines 32-33, the narratorcompares his brother’s givenname to a “big tail on asmall kite.” What does thissimile tell you about the nar-rator’s opinion of his broth-er’s name?

Re-read lines 35-41. Whatdoes the narrator want?Underline what you find out.

Re-read lines 20-23.Underline the detail that tellsyou that the story takesplace in the past.

2. caul (kôl) n.: membrane (thin, skinlike material) that sometimes covers a baby’s head at birth.

3. marquisette (mär≈ki·zet√) adj.: made of a thin, netlike fabric.4. palmetto fronds: fanlike leaves of a palm tree.

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However, one afternoon as I watched him, my head poked

between the iron posts of the foot of the bed, he looked straight

at me and grinned. I skipped through the rooms, down the

echoing halls, shouting, “Mama, he smiled. He’s all there! He’s

all there!” and he was.

When he was two, if you laid him on his stomach, he began to

try to move himself, straining terribly. The doctor said that with

his weak heart this strain would probably kill him, but it didn’t.

Trembling, he’d push himself up, turning first red, then a soft

purple, and finally collapse back onto the bed like an old worn-

out doll. I can still see Mama watching him, her hand pressed

tight across her mouth, her eyes wide and unblinking. But he

learned to crawl (it was his third winter), and we brought him

out of the front bedroom, putting him on the rug before the

fireplace. For the first time he became one of us.

As long as he lay all the time in bed, we called him William

Armstrong, even though it was formal and sounded as if we

were referring to one of our ancestors, but with his creeping

around on the deerskin rug and beginning to talk, something

had to be done about his name. It was I who renamed him.

When he crawled, he crawled backward, as if he were in reverse

and couldn’t change gears. If you called him, he’d turn around

as if he were going in the other direction, then he’d back right

up to you to be picked up. Crawling backward made him look

like a doodlebug5 so I began to call him Doodle, and in time

even Mama and Daddy thought it was a better name than

William Armstrong. Only Aunt Nicey disagreed. She said caul

babies should be treated with special respect since they might

turn out to be saints. Renaming my brother was perhaps the

kindest thing I ever did for him, because nobody expects much

from someone called Doodle.

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5. doodlebug (dºd√´l·bug≈) n.: larva of a type of insect that movesbackward.

Why is it so important to thenarrator that his brother is“all there” (lines 54-55)?

What does the description inlines 59-61 tell you aboutDoodle?

Pause at line 79. Why doesn’tAunt Nicey like Doodle’snickname?


Although Doodle learned to crawl, he showed no signs of

walking, but he wasn’t idle. He talked so much that we all quit

listening to what he said. It was about this time that Daddy built

him a go-cart, and I had to pull him around. At first I just

paraded him up and down the piazza,6 but then he started cry-

ing to be taken out into the yard and it ended up by my having

to lug him wherever I went. If I so much as picked up my cap,

he’d start crying to go with me, and Mama would call from

wherever she was, “Take Doodle with you.”

He was a burden in many ways. The doctor had said that he

mustn’t get too excited, too hot, too cold, or too tired and that

he must always be treated gently. A long list of don’ts went with

him, all of which I ignored once we got out of the house. To dis-

courage his coming with me, I’d run with him across the ends of

the cotton rows and careen him around corners on two wheels.

Sometimes I accidentally turned him over, but he never told

Mama. His skin was very sensitive, and he had to wear a big

straw hat whenever he went out. When the going got rough and

he had to cling to the sides of the go-cart, the hat slipped all the

way down over his ears. He was a sight. Finally, I could see I was

licked. Doodle was my brother, and he was going to cling to me

forever, no matter what I did, so I dragged him across the burn-

ing cotton field to share with him the only beauty I knew, Old

Woman Swamp. I pulled the go-cart through the sawtooth fern,

down into the green dimness where the palmetto fronds whis-

pered by the stream. I lifted him out and set him down in the

soft rubber grass beside a tall pine. His eyes were round with

wonder as he gazed about him, and his little hands began to

stroke the rubber grass. Then he began to cry.

“For heaven’s sake, what’s the matter?” I asked, annoyed.

“It’s so pretty,” he said. “So pretty, pretty, pretty.”

After that day Doodle and I often went down into Old

Woman Swamp. I would gather wildflowers, wild violets,

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6. piazza (p≤·az√¥) n.: large covered porch.

Re-read lines 91-101. In yourown words, describe the nar-rator and his brother as theymight look to an observer.

Re-read lines 108-112, andcircle the details that helpyou infer Doodle’s charactertraits. What are they?

What does the narratortransport Doodle in (lines82-90)? Underline the sen-tence where you find out.


honeysuckle, yellow jasmine, snakeflowers, and waterlilies, and

with wire grass we’d weave them into necklaces and crowns.

We’d bedeck ourselves with our handiwork and loll about thus

beautified, beyond the touch of the everyday world. Then when

the slanted rays of the sun burned orange in the tops of the

pines, we’d drop our jewels into the stream and watch them float

away toward the sea.

There is within me (and with sadness I have watched it in

others) a knot of cruelty borne by the stream of love, much as

our blood sometimes bears the seed of our destruction, and at

times I was mean to Doodle. One day I took him up to the barn

loft and showed him his casket, telling him how we all had

believed he would die. It was covered with a film of Paris green7

sprinkled to kill the rats, and screech owls had built a nest

inside it.

Doodle studied the mahogany box for a long time, then

said, “It’s not mine.”

“It is,” I said. “And before I’ll help you down from the loft,

you’re going to have to touch it.”

“I won’t touch it,” he said sullenly.

“Then I’ll leave you here by yourself,” I threatened, and

made as if I were going down.

Doodle was frightened of being left. “Don’t go leave me,

Brother,” he cried, and he leaned toward the coffin. His hand,

trembling, reached out, and when he touched the casket, he

screamed. A screech owl flapped out of the box into our faces,

scaring us and covering us with Paris green. Doodle was para-

lyzed, so I put him on my shoulder and carried him down the

ladder, and even when we were outside in the bright sunshine,

he clung to me, crying, “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

When Doodle was five years old, I was embarrassed at having a

brother of that age who couldn’t walk, so I set out to teach him.

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7. Paris green n.: poisonous green powder used to kill insects.

Re-read the long sentence inlines 122-125. What is the narrator saying about therelationship between loveand cruelty?

sullenly (sul√¥n·l≤) adv.:resentfully; gloomily.

Pause at line 144. Why do youthink the narrator showsDoodle the coffin? Whatmight this event foreshadow?


We were down in Old Woman Swamp and it was spring and the

sick-sweet smell of bay flowers hung everywhere like a mournful

song. “I’m going to teach you to walk, Doodle,” I said.

He was sitting comfortably on the soft grass, leaning back

against the pine. “Why?” he asked.

I hadn’t expected such an answer. “So I won’t have to haul

you around all the time.”

“I can’t walk, Brother,” he said.

“Who says so?” I demanded.

“Mama, the doctor—everybody.”

“Oh, you can walk,” I said, and I took him by the arms and

stood him up. He collapsed onto the grass like a half-empty

flour sack. It was as if he had no bones in his little legs.

“Don’t hurt me, Brother,” he warned.

“Shut up. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to teach you

to walk.” I heaved him up again, and again he collapsed.

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Re-read lines 147-149.Underline the simile, andexplain what two things arebeing compared.

NotesNotes

© PhotoDisc, Inc./Getty Images.


This time he did not lift his face up out of the rubber grass.

“I just can’t do it. Let’s make honeysuckle wreaths.”

“Oh yes you can, Doodle,” I said. “All you got to do is try.

Now come on,” and I hauled him up once more.

It seemed so hopeless from the beginning that it’s a miracle

I didn’t give up. But all of us must have something or someone

to be proud of, and Doodle had become mine. I did not know

then that pride is a wonderful, terrible thing, a seed that bears

two vines, life and death. Every day that summer we went to the

pine beside the stream of Old Woman Swamp, and I put him on

his feet at least a hundred times each afternoon. Occasionally I

too became discouraged because it didn’t seem as if he was try-

ing, and I would say, “Doodle, don’t you want to learn to walk?”

He’d nod his head, and I’d say, “Well, if you don’t keep try-

ing, you’ll never learn.” Then I’d paint for him a picture of us as

old men, white-haired, him with a long white beard and me still

pulling him around in the go-cart. This never failed to make

him try again.

Finally, one day, after many weeks of practicing, he stood

alone for a few seconds. When he fell, I grabbed him in my arms

and hugged him, our laughter pealing through the swamp like a

ringing bell. Now we knew it could be done. Hope no longer hid

in the dark palmetto thicket but perched like a cardinal in the

lacy toothbrush tree, brilliantly visible. “Yes, yes,” I cried, and he

cried it too, and the grass beneath us was soft and the smell of

the swamp was sweet.

With success so imminent, we decided not to tell anyone

until he could actually walk. Each day, barring rain, we sneaked

into Old Woman Swamp, and by cotton-picking time Doodle

was ready to show what he could do. He still wasn’t able to walk

far, but we could wait no longer. Keeping a nice secret is very

hard to do, like holding your breath. We chose to reveal all on

October eighth, Doodle’s sixth birthday, and for weeks ahead we

mooned around the house, promising everybody a most

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Underline the simile in lines184-186. What do you thinkthe narrator means?

imminent (im√¥·n¥nt) adj.:near; about to happen.

Pause at line 171. Underlinethe two statements the nar-rator makes about pride. Puthis statements in your ownwords.


spectacular surprise. Aunt Nicey said that, after so much talk, if

we produced anything less tremendous than the Resurrection,8

she was going to be disappointed.

At breakfast on our chosen day, when Mama, Daddy, and

Aunt Nicey were in the dining room, I brought Doodle to the

door in the go-cart just as usual and had them turn their backs,

making them cross their hearts and hope to die if they peeked. I

helped Doodle up, and when he was standing alone I let them

look. There wasn’t a sound as Doodle walked slowly across the

room and sat down at his place at the table. Then Mama began

to cry and ran over to him, hugging him and kissing him. Daddy

hugged him too, so I went to Aunt Nicey, who was thanks-pray-

ing in the doorway, and began to waltz her around. We danced

together quite well until she came down on my big toe with her

brogans,9 hurting me so badly I thought I was crippled for life.

Doodle told them it was I who had taught him to walk, so

everyone wanted to hug me, and I began to cry.

“What are you crying for?” asked Daddy, but I couldn’t

answer. They did not know that I did it for myself; that pride,

whose slave I was, spoke to me louder than all their voices; and

that Doodle walked only because I was ashamed of having a

crippled brother.

Within a few months Doodle had learned to walk well and

his go-cart was put up in the barn loft (it’s still there) beside his

little mahogany coffin. Now, when we roamed off together, rest-

ing often, we never turned back until our destination had been

reached, and to help pass the time, we took up lying. From the

beginning Doodle was a terrible liar, and he got me in the habit.

Had anyone stopped to listen to us, we would have been sent off

to Dix Hill.

My lies were scary, involved, and usually pointless, but

Doodle’s were twice as crazy. People in his stories all had wings

and flew wherever they wanted to go. His favorite lie was about a

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8. Resurrection: reference to the Christian belief in the rising of Jesusfrom the dead after his burial.

9. brogans (br£√g¥nz) n.: heavy, ankle-high shoes.

Re-read lines 215-218. Is thenarrator describing pridethat brings something won-derful or something terrible?

Re-read lines 225-226. DixHill is a state mental hospitalin Raleigh, North Carolina.What does the narratormean by this statement?


boy named Peter who had a pet peacock with a ten-foot tail.

Peter wore a golden robe that glittered so brightly that when he

walked through the sunflowers they turned away from the sun

to face him. When Peter was ready to go to sleep, the peacock

spread his magnificent tail, enfolding the boy gently like a clos-

ing go-to-sleep flower, burying him in the gloriously iridescent,

rustling vortex.10 Yes, I must admit it. Doodle could beat me

lying.

Doodle and I spent lots of time thinking about our future.

We decided that when we were grown, we’d live in Old Woman

Swamp and pick dog’s-tongue11 for a living. Beside the stream,

he planned, we’d build us a house of whispering leaves and the

swamp birds would be our chickens. All day long (when we

weren’t gathering dog’s-tongue) we’d swing through the cy-

presses on the rope vines, and if it rained we’d huddle beneath

an umbrella tree and play stickfrog. Mama and Daddy could

come and live with us if they wanted to. He even came up with

the idea that he could marry Mama and I could marry Daddy.

Of course, I was old enough to know this wouldn’t work out,

but the picture he painted was so beautiful and serene that all I

could do was whisper yes, yes.

Once I had succeeded in teaching Doodle to walk, I began to

believe in my own infallibility and I prepared a terrific develop-

ment program for him, unknown to Mama and Daddy, of

course. I would teach him to run, to swim, to climb trees, and to

fight. He, too, now believed in my infallibility, so we set the

deadline for these accomplishments less than a year away, when,

it had been decided, Doodle could start to school.

That winter we didn’t make much progress, for I was in

school and Doodle suffered from one bad cold after another. But

when spring came, rich and warm, we raised our sights again.

Success lay at the end of summer like a pot of gold, and our

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10. vortex (vôr√teks≈) n.: something resembling a whirlpool.11. dog’s-tongue n.: wild vanilla.

Re-read lines 231-236.Underline the details thathelp you visualize Doodle’slie. Why is the peacockimportant in his lie?

iridescent (ir≈i·des√¥nt) adj.:rainbowlike; displaying ashifting range of colors.

serene (s¥·r≤n√) adj.: peace-ful; calm.

infallibility (in·fal≈¥·bil√¥·t≤)n.: inability to make a mistake.

Pause at line 260. Do youthink the narrator’s “devel-opment program” is a goodidea? Briefly explain.


campaign got off to a good start. On hot days, Doodle and I

went down to Horsehead Landing, and I gave him swimming

lessons or showed him how to row a boat. Sometimes we

descended into the cool greenness of Old Woman Swamp and

climbed the rope vines or boxed scientifically beneath the pine

where he had learned to walk. Promise hung about us like

leaves, and wherever we looked, ferns unfurled and birds broke

into song.

That summer, the summer of 1918, was blighted. In May

and June there was no rain and the crops withered, curled up,

then died under the thirsty sun. One morning in July a hurri-

cane came out of the east, tipping over the oaks in the yard and

splitting the limbs of the elm trees. That afternoon it roared

back out of the west, blew the fallen oaks around, snapping their

roots and tearing them out of the earth like a hawk at the

entrails12 of a chicken. Cotton bolls were wrenched from the

stalks and lay like green walnuts in the valleys between the rows,

while the cornfield leaned over uniformly so that the tassels

touched the ground. Doodle and I followed Daddy out into the

cotton field, where he stood, shoulders sagging, surveying the

ruin. When his chin sank down onto his chest, we were fright-

ened, and Doodle slipped his hand into mine. Suddenly Daddy

straightened his shoulders, raised a giant knuckly fist, and with a

voice that seemed to rumble out of the earth itself began cursing

heaven, hell, the weather, and the Republican party.13 Doodle

and I, prodding each other and giggling, went back to the house,

knowing that everything would be all right.

And during that summer, strange names were heard

through the house: Château-Thierry, Amiens, Soissons, and in

her blessing at the supper table, Mama once said, “And bless the

Pearsons, whose boy Joe was lost in Belleau Wood.”14

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12. entrails (en√tr†lz) n.: inner organs; guts.13. Republican party: At this time most southern farmers were loyal

Democrats.14. Château-Thierry (sha√t£’ t≤·er√·≤), Amiens (ß·mya‰√), Soissons

(swä·sô‰√), Belleau (be·lô√) Wood: World War I battle sites in France.

blighted (bl¢t√id) v. used asadj.: suffering from condi-tions that destroy or preventgrowth.

Re-read lines 274-277.Underline the simile the nar-rator uses to describe thedestruction of the oak trees.Why do you think the writerchose this comparison?

Pause at line 288. If the“blighted” summer, includ-ing the violent hurricane, is asymbol of what is to come,what might lie in Doodle’sfuture?


So we came to that clove of seasons. School was only a few

weeks away, and Doodle was far behind schedule. He could

barely clear the ground when climbing up the rope vines, and

his swimming was certainly not passable. We decided to double

our efforts, to make that last drive and reach our pot of gold. I

made him swim until he turned blue and row until he couldn’t

lift an oar. Wherever we went, I purposely walked fast, and

although he kept up, his face turned red and his eyes became

glazed. Once, he could go no further, so he collapsed on the

ground and began to cry.

“Aw, come on, Doodle,” I urged. “You can do it. Do you

want to be different from everybody else when you start

school?”

“Does it make any difference?”

“It certainly does,” I said. “Now, come on,” and I helped

him up.

As we slipped through the dog days,15 Doodle began to

look feverish, and Mama felt his forehead, asking him if he felt

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© PhotoDisc, Inc./Getty Images.

15. dog days n.: hot days in July and August, named after the Dog Star(Sirius), which rises and sets with the sun during this period.

Underline the details in lines309-313 that suggest Doodleis becoming increasingly illand weak. Based on thesedetails, what do you predictwill happen to Doodle?


ill. At night he didn’t sleep well, and sometimes he had night-

mares, crying out until I touched him and said, “Wake up,

Doodle. Wake up.”

It was Saturday noon, just a few days before school was to

start. I should have already admitted defeat, but my pride

wouldn’t let me. The excitement of our program had now been

gone for weeks, but still we kept on with a tired doggedness. It

was too late to turn back, for we had both wandered too far into

a net of expectations and had left no crumbs behind.

Daddy, Mama, Doodle, and I were seated at the dining-

room table having lunch. It was a hot day, with all the windows

and doors open in case a breeze should come. In the kitchen

Aunt Nicey was humming softly. After a long silence, Daddy

spoke. “It’s so calm, I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a storm

this afternoon.”

“I haven’t heard a rain frog,” said Mama, who believed in

signs, as she served the bread around the table.

“I did,” declared Doodle. “Down in the swamp.”

“He didn’t,” I said contrarily.

“You did, eh?” said Daddy, ignoring my denial.

“I certainly did,” Doodle reiterated, scowling at me over

the top of his iced-tea glass, and we were quiet again.

Suddenly, from out in the yard came a strange croaking

noise. Doodle stopped eating, with a piece of bread poised ready

for his mouth, his eyes popped round like two blue buttons.

“What’s that?” he whispered.

I jumped up, knocking over my chair, and had reached the

door when Mama called, “Pick up the chair, sit down again, and

say excuse me.”

By the time I had done this, Doodle had excused himself

and had slipped out into the yard. He was looking up into the

bleeding tree. “It’s a great big red bird!” he called.

The bird croaked loudly again, and Mama and Daddy came

out into the yard. We shaded our eyes with our hands against

the hazy glare of the sun and peered up through the still leaves.

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doggedness (dôg√id·nis) n.:stubbornness; persistence.

reiterated (r≤·it√¥·r†t≈id) v.:repeated.

In your own words, explainwhat the narrator means inlines 316-319.


On the topmost branch a bird the size of a chicken, with scarlet

feathers and long legs, was perched precariously. Its wings hung

down loosely, and as we watched, a feather dropped away and

floated slowly down through the green leaves.

“It’s not even frightened of us,” Mama said.

“It looks tired,” Daddy added. “Or maybe sick.”

Doodle’s hands were clasped at his throat, and I had never

seen him stand still so long. “What is it?” he asked.

Daddy shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe it’s—”

At that moment the bird began to flutter, but the wings

were uncoordinated, and amid much flapping and a spray of fly-

ing feathers, it tumbled down, bumping through the limbs of

the bleeding tree and landing at our feet with a thud. Its long,

graceful neck jerked twice into an S, then straightened out, and

the bird was still. A white veil came over the eyes, and the long

white beak unhinged. Its legs were crossed and its clawlike feet

were delicately curved at rest. Even death did not mar its grace,

for it lay on the earth like a broken vase of red flowers, and we

stood around it, awed by its exotic beauty.

“It’s dead,” Mama said.

“What is it?” Doodle repeated.

“Go bring me the bird book,” said Daddy.

I ran into the house and brought back the bird book. As we

watched, Daddy thumbed through its pages. “It’s a scarlet ibis,”

he said, pointing to a picture. “It lives in the tropics—South

America to Florida. A storm must have brought it here.”

Sadly, we all looked back at the bird. A scarlet ibis! How

many miles it had traveled to die like this, in our yard, beneath

the bleeding tree.

“Let’s finish lunch,” Mama said, nudging us back toward

the dining room.

“I’m not hungry,” said Doodle, and he knelt down beside

the ibis.

“We’ve got peach cobbler for dessert,” Mama tempted from

the doorway.

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Pause at line 364. LikeDoodle, the scarlet ibis isdescribed as being uncoordi-nated, delicate, and unique.How might the death of theibis foreshadow the story’sending?

precariously (pri·ker√≤·¥s·l≤)adv.: unsteadily; insecurely.

mar (mär) v.: damage; spoil.

Re-read lines 346-351. Inwhat ways does the birdremind you of Doodle?


Doodle remained kneeling. “I’m going to bury him.”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Mama warned. “There’s no

telling what disease he might have had.”

“All right,” said Doodle. “I won’t.”

Daddy, Mama, and I went back to the dining-room table,

but we watched Doodle through the open door. He took out a

piece of string from his pocket and, without touching the ibis,

looped one end around its neck. Slowly, while singing softly

“Shall We Gather at the River,” he carried the bird around to the

front yard and dug a hole in the flower garden, next to the petu-

nia bed. Now we were watching him through the front window,

but he didn’t know it. His awkwardness at digging the hole

with a shovel whose handle was twice as long as he was made

us laugh, and we covered our mouths with our hands so he

wouldn’t hear.

When Doodle came into the dining room, he found us seri-

ously eating our cobbler. He was pale and lingered just inside the

screen door. “Did you get the scarlet ibis buried?” asked Daddy.

Doodle didn’t speak but nodded his head.

“Go wash your hands, and then you can have some peach

cobbler,” said Mama.

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

“Dead birds is bad luck,” said Aunt Nicey, poking her head

from the kitchen door. “Specially red dead birds!”

As soon as I had finished eating, Doodle and I hurried off

to Horsehead Landing. Time was short, and Doodle still had a

long way to go if he was going to keep up with the other boys

when he started school. The sun, gilded with the yellow cast of

autumn, still burned fiercely, but the dark green woods through

which we passed were shady and cool. When we reached the

landing, Doodle said he was too tired to swim, so we got into a

skiff and floated down the creek with the tide. Far off in the

marsh a rail was scolding, and over on the beach locusts were

singing in the myrtle trees. Doodle did not speak and kept his

head turned away, letting one hand trail limply in the water.

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Pause at line 395. Why isDoodle so fascinated by thescarlet ibis? Why does hetake such pains to bury it?

The description of Doodle’sburial of the scarlet ibis inlines 385-399 is a very mov-ing passage. Read the boxedpassage aloud twice. Focuson conveying meaning thefirst time you read. The sec-ond time you read, try toconvey the passage’s emo-tional overtones.

NotesNotes


After we had drifted a long way, I put the oars in place and

made Doodle row back against the tide. Black clouds began to

gather in the southwest, and he kept watching them, trying to

pull the oars a little faster. When we reached Horsehead

Landing, lightning was playing across half the sky and thunder

roared out, hiding even the sound of the sea. The sun disap-

peared and darkness descended, almost like night. Flocks of

marsh crows flew by, heading inland to their roosting trees, and

two egrets, squawking, arose from the oyster-rock shallows and

careened away.

Doodle was both tired and frightened, and when he

stepped from the skiff he collapsed onto the mud, sending an

armada16 of fiddler crabs rustling off into the marsh grass. I

helped him up, and as he wiped the mud off his trousers, he

smiled at me ashamedly. He had failed and we both knew it, so

we started back home, racing the storm. We never spoke (what

are the words that can solder17 cracked pride?), but I knew he

was watching me, watching for a sign of mercy. The lightning

was near now, and from fear he walked so close behind me he

kept stepping on my heels. The faster I walked, the faster he

walked, so I began to run. The rain was coming, roaring through

the pines, and then, like a bursting Roman candle, a gum tree

ahead of us was shattered by a bolt of lightning. When the deaf-

ening peal of thunder had died, and in the moment before the

rain arrived, I heard Doodle, who had fallen behind, cry out,

“Brother, Brother, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”

The knowledge that Doodle’s and my plans had come to

naught was bitter, and that streak of cruelty within me awak-

ened. I ran as fast as I could, leaving him far behind with a wall

of rain dividing us. The drops stung my face like nettles, and the

wind flared the wet, glistening leaves of the bordering trees.

Soon I could hear his voice no more.

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16. armada (är·mä√d¥) n.: group. Armada is generally used to mean“fleet, or group, of warships.”

17. solder (säd√¥r) v.: patch or repair. Solder is a mixture of metals melt-ed and used to repair metal parts.

Re-read lines 416-425. Circlethe details describing theapproaching storm. What doyou think the storm fore-shadows?

Underline line 441. Then,underline the parts of thestory where you have heardthis before_Doodle’s beg-ging his brother not to leavehim or not to hurt him. What could these wordsforeshadow?

Pause at line 447. Why doesthe narrator leave Doodlebehind?


I hadn’t run too far before I became tired, and the flood of

childish spite evanesced18 as well. I stopped and waited for

Doodle. The sound of rain was everywhere, but the wind had

died and it fell straight down in parallel paths like ropes hanging

from the sky. As I waited, I peered through the downpour, but

no one came. Finally I went back and found him huddled

beneath a red nightshade bush beside the road. He was sitting

on the ground, his face buried in his arms, which were resting

on his drawn-up knees. “Let’s go, Doodle,” I said.

He didn’t answer, so I placed my hand on his forehead and

lifted his head. Limply, he fell backward onto the earth. He had

been bleeding from the mouth, and his neck and the front of his

shirt were stained a brilliant red.

“Doodle! Doodle!” I cried, shaking him, but there was no

answer but the ropy rain. He lay very awkwardly, with his head

thrown far back, making his vermilion19 neck appear unusually

long and slim. His little legs, bent sharply at the knees, had never

before seemed so fragile, so thin.

I began to weep, and the tear-blurred vision in red before

me looked very familiar. “Doodle!” I screamed above the pound-

ing storm, and threw my body to the earth above his. For a long,

long time, it seemed forever, I lay there crying, sheltering my

fallen scarlet ibis from the heresy20 of rain.

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18. evanesced (ev≈¥·nest√) v.: faded away; disappeared.19. vermilion (v¥r·mil√y¥n) adj.: bright red.20. heresy (her√¥·s≤) n.: here, mockery. Heresy generally means “denial

of what is commonly believed to be true” or “rejection of a church’steaching.”

Corel.

What do the details in thedescription of Doodle in thelast two paragraphs remindyou of? Why do you thinkthe writer makes this association?

In lines 468-470, what does the narrator call his deadbrother?


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